


Electricity

by Gleennui



Category: Glee
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Finn tries dirty talk, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Beta Read, Puck as a fuck hole, Swearing, drunk!Puck, terrible business ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleennui/pseuds/Gleennui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck knows exactly what he needs to make that electric feeling go away. </p><p> </p><p>(See notes for possible triggers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electricity

**Author's Note:**

> (There is some light psychological roleplay that might be triggering for some people, including what could be seen as role-playing a form of sexual assault to those who might be sensitive to that. Consent, however, is clearly given, and at no point is there any gray area that the characters are not role-playing. One of the characters is drunk at one point, but he is sober at the time of the sex act. If you're at all on the fence, please feel free to click away.)

"C'mon, buddy. I think you're done for the night."

"Fuck no, dude!" Puck leans back in his barstool toward Finn, his half-empty glass just out of reach. "Look, I'm barely tipsy." 

Finn gives him a _look_ and holds the glass farther away. Fucker. 

"Yeah, and I might actually believe you if you weren't holding yourself up by my shirt."

He isn't--oh, he is. Puck carefully releases Finn’s shirt, patting his chest to smooth out the wrinkles and actually kind of succeeding. Who needs a fucking iron, anyway? He should just start rubbing all of Finn’s clothes smooth. He congratulates himself on his brilliant idea, and wonders if that might work for other people’s clothes. People who aren’t Finn and who actually like their clothes without wrinkles. Maybe he could tack that onto his pool-cleaning. Rub the husbands’ clothes smooth while he’s rubbing their wives’—

"All right, you’re too big for me to lift, so you’re gonna have to walk out, I think." Puck scowls at Finn. Or, actually, the bottom half of Finn. The top half is trying and failing to lift Puck into a fireman’s carry. Maybe it’s the five—no, six?—eight?—car bombs, but the sight of Finn’s back end wiggling around trying to get leverage on the sticky floor is the funniest damn thing Puck’s seen in a long time.

"Dude. Duuuude." Puck's cracking up--actually laughing so hard he's sliding off his stool. He had thought people only did that in movies. Cartoon movies. And not people so much as talking animals. But pretty soon he's half on the floor, dragging Finn's still-wiggling lower end with him. "Did you really think your weakling ass could lift me?" He's practically draped over Finn, anyway, but that's totally because _he_ put himself there and not because Finn actually picked him up. Big big difference. 

"Fuck you! 'M not weak!" Finn's voice is muffled under Puck's arm, and the whole thing is so fucking ridiculous that what other choice does he have? He rears his arm back and smacks Finn right on the ass. It's supposed to be a really hard smack, but Finn must move or something right at the last minute, because Puck's hand sort of deflects off the side and falls against Finn's hip. Good enough. 

Finn freezes under him, and then he kicks out, stubbing against Puck's knee with the toe of his right Chuck. His head is still kind of tucked under Puck's arm but he throws a hand out and tugs at the open lapel of Puck's leather jacket. "'m'kay, Puck. Let's, uh, let's go." Finn clears his throat. Puck watches Finn dig his thumbnail into the leather, and he should probably tell him to stop or move or something because that jacket was fucking expensive but he thinks maybe the eight--ten?--drinks are catching up to him, because everything's a little hazy and warm and his hand on Finn's hip is grounding him and it's not at all covered in a layer of blubber, like Santana says and everything just feels really _good_.

He's suddenly very aware of how close they are to the nasty floor, and he's wearing old jeans but they have to last until graduation, at least, so he pulls his feet up underneath himself and drags both of them up, blinking at Finn's red face when it reappears from under his arm. 

"Nice hair." He snorts and pokes at Finn's head with two fingers, but he must not do the snorting right because it turns into a cough. Before he can reach for the rest of his drink to clear his throat, Finn has him by the arm and is pulling him through the bar and out the back way. Or at least Puck figures it's the back way because everyone's getting farther away from him in the wrong direction. Or something. 

The cold air hits him in the face and he's sort of aware of that they're in an alley, the back of the bar butting up against what smells like an Indian restaurant. There's really only enough room to walk single-file, but Finn's still holding onto his arm, his long fingers trailing down along Puck's wrist. It feels the same kind of good that his hand on Finn's hip felt, and it's turning his buzz into this weird kind of anticipation in his veins, like he's waiting for something awesome to happen. Puck flexes his fingers into a fist, and Finn's curl all the way around his wrist, digging into Puck's wrist bone with the same thumbnail that was on Puck's jacket. 

"...known you for 14 years, and I still don't get how you get into these places with that terrible fake ID, Sandy Ryerson." It takes a beat for Puck to figure out that Finn's been talking to him this entire time, but it doesn't seem to bother Finn that Puck's not listening, because he continues. "I know I always say I don't want to know, man, but seriously. Who are you sleeping with to get away with all this shit? Maybe it's 'cause I'm taller than everyone, but there's no way I could do half of what you do and not be in jail or--or dead in a ditch. And then my mom would be on the news all sad and they'd interview you and you'd wear one of your suits and say things like, 'I told Mr. Hudson this would happen if he didn't change his dangerous behavior.' and then you'd shake your head and make the Sign of the Cross or something and you're _Jewish_ so you probably shouldn't do that."

Puck laughs, his voice sounding far away to his own ears, like he's underwater. He makes a fist again and feels Finn's thumb dig in harder. The pinch makes him feel sparks of energy up and down the tendons of his forearm, and he can't figure out whether he wants to shake his arm out or try to make Finn do that again. 

"'kay, first of all, I don't sound like that, asshole. My voice's lower than yours." The toes of Puck's boots scuff against a patch of ground that wasn't there before and he stutter-steps. Because he's the nicest fucking guy in the world, Finn doesn't say anything about the ten--probably only six--shots Puck thinks are what's got to be making him feel so hot in the January night. He just slips his fingers down until they're in-between each of Puck's and squeezes. "Sec--second of all," Puck shakes his head, "you couldn't pull any of that off 'cause you're awkward as fuck. You've got to be the goofiest fucking dude I've ever known and--Finn, stop." 

Finn does stop. He stops in the middle of the parking lot and that's when Puck realizes they've walked all the way to Finn's car. He takes a deep breath, the buzzy electric feeling in his veins getting stronger the more the alcohol wears off, which is weird and also a little bit great. "Just--just here. Over here." Puck pulls his hand out of Finn's and backs him up against the passenger side door with a little more force than he meant to, palms against Finn's shoulders. "I just--I gotta try something. Hold on." 

He fits his hands against Finn's hips again. The good feeling's back, and he sighs into it. He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of Finn's jeans, just enough to press into Finn's hipbones without another layer of denim in the way. "Yeah, yeah," he's breathing out before he realizes it. Fuck, everything is still kind of muddled and fuzzy and Puck has zero clue what he's doing, but Finn's hips under his hands are driving him out of his mind. Finn's leaning back against the door, slouched passively under Puck, and fuck if that isn't making the whole thing feel even better for some reason he can't even explain but wants to chase really badly. So he does. He leans in before he can change his mind and tucks his head up under Finn's jaw, pressing his lips against the side of Finn's throat. He's not kissing him. Not really. But Puck can feel the scrape of stubble against his mouth and he can _smell_ Finn, right there, right where his pulse is beating, and it's making the electric feeling collect into something very very familiar. Something that's starting to stir against Finn's thigh. 

And, yeah, it's probably a little bit the Jager, still, because, seriously, who gets half-hard over the way their best friend's neck smells? But Noah Puckerman has never denied himself pleasure before. He's sure as shit not going to start now. 

Finn is still lax under Puck's hands and mouth, lax but not resigned, like he was expecting this somehow and is ready for whatever direction Puck wants to steer them in. That should probably make Puck worried about what that says about him and Finn and their relationship, and maybe this was supposed to be their endgame all along--pressed up against each other in freezing cold Lima, Ohio in January, with all of Finn's smells and Puck's hands on Finn's hips and both of them ready for something more. But Puck's not worried. He's not worried at all. He feels _good_ , and maybe better than good now, and he's seriously considering telling Finn that when he feels Finn move one his hands and place it on Puck's back, running just his fingertips along Puck's spine. Finn has giant clumsy hands 90% of the time, but Puck figures that, just like throwing a football and managing to shove an entire slice of pizza in his mouth at once, when Finn wants something badly enough, he's smooth as hell. The touch isn't tentative at all, in fact, despite being really light, and Puck arches a little into it, but it's not enough. He needs. Now. 

"Take me home." 

His mouth barely makes it to the edge of Finn's ear before the words are spilling out of him, and Finn nods, muscles tensing under Puck for the first time since before Puck pushed him against the car. They're both ready. 

They don't speak on the ride back; Puck's mostly digging his nails into his knees to keep from grabbing Finn again. He realizes when they're about a block from Finn's place that he hadn't specified _which_ home he wanted to go to, but Finn's makes the most sense. They'll have half the house to themselves because Kurt's off on a college visit at soon-ey something or other, down by New York City. Kurt had mentioned to Burt how ridiculous it was to have a safety school, and Burt had marched him out the door and all the way to the airport. So Kurt won't be there with his "whatcha doin, boys?" and his knowing smirk, like he's some kind of gay psychic. Puck's not 100% sure what he wants, but he's getting a feeling about it all, and that feeling is telling him he wishes Burt and Carole had invested in soundproofing. 

Puck can't get up the stairs fast enough but Finn, that bastard, is taking his good sweet time. When Puck looks back, Finn's doing that thing when he's really proud of himself where he smiles with half his mouth. Puck should be glad that Finn's not freaking out or anything, but the anticipation of getting to be pressed up against Finn again is getting him all-the-way hard in his jeans, like he's 13 again and figuring out what to do with his right hand. 

He stalks into Finn's room and sheds his leather jacket, shadow boxing a little to burn off some of that electric feeling. Finn's room smells like _Finn_ and it's giving shape to what Puck wants. Finn finally sidles in, still doing that fucking half-grin, and nods at Puck, locking the door behind him without looking back. 

He's on Finn before he remembers making the decision to do it, nudging his mouth back against Finn's throat. This time he opens his mouth and drags his tongue along the tendon, and he can't help the grunt of breath that comes out of him, because he'd thought Finn had smelled good, but it's nothing compared to how he tastes, and _fuck_ Puck is so hard it hurts. Puck has to move--has to do something with his hands--so he moves them to Finn's waistband, trying unsuccessfully to tug Finn's pants down before Finn's hands come around to guide him to the belt buckle, his dumb clumsy hands still steady and sure and how is he not ready to jump out of his skin like Puck is? 

They get Finn's jeans down around his thighs, and Puck's knees hit the floor as soon as he sees Finn straining against the front of his boxers. Finn looks down at him, and even though Puck knows Finn's turned on--can see it plainly right in front of his face--Finn's smile is almost fond, like he's been waiting for this moment since they were kids and swinging their legs into each other on Carole's porch glider. The idea of that--that maybe Finn's been patiently waiting all this time for Puck to get some kind of clue about all the places he wants to put his mouth makes Puck kind of crazy. He slides his hands up to fit them over Finn's hips again, pushing Finn's boxers down this time to get contact with his skin. He leans forward, his mouth practically watering, and presses his face against Finn's erection, deliriously rubbing his cheek along the fabric like a starving man. Finn's hands come up to stroke the smooth sides of Puck's head, his fingers clenching a little whenever Puck mouths little wet spots along the fly. 

"You like that, huh." 

It's not a question, but Puck nods anyway. "You want to taste me, Puck?" Finn's voice is soft, shy but with something demanding at the edges. "Want to see how I feel in your mouth?" And fuck fuck _fuck_ he does. He really does. His want is clicking into place fast, faster than he can control, and when Finn's boxers gap and his erection starts to peek out of the fly, it's like a key turning in the ignition. 

Finn's perfect, all thick and hot to the touch as Puck pulls him all the way out of his boxers. Puck is dizzy, drunk all over again when he leans in and buries his face at the base of Finn's cock, inhaling deeply until his breath catches into a deep moan. Puck should probably be ashamed that he's so hard for Finn _right here_ , right where Finn's been tucked into his jeans all day, right at the soft skin where his stomach curves into something way more exciting. He should be ashamed; instead, his throat just aches. He looks up at Finn, who's looking right back, his head tilted and his lower lip sucked between his teeth. 

"Please."

Finn raises his eyebrows. 

"'s all yours, man." 

Puck nods a little and takes a deep breath before he starts to slide Finn into his mouth, digging his hands into Finn's hips so he doesn't give himself what he really wants all at once. He can feel, more than hear, Finn sigh above him, and a beat later, Finn's hands are petting at Puck's shoulders over the thin cotton of his t-shirt, fingers dragging down to Puck's collarbone and back up again. Puck sinks down as far as he can, until the head hits the back of his throat, and _oh, there it is_. 

He tugs at Finn's hips, desperate to feel that pleasant choke again. "Hey. Easy. Don't--don't wanna hurt you." Finn's voice is shaky above him as his cock twitches a little in Puck's mouth. Puck shakes his head as much as he can and tugs on Finn's hips again, letting a huff out of the corners of his mouth. Finn just eases back and strokes along Puck's shoulders, and it's unacceptable. Puck pulls all the way off and gapes up at Finn, sure his mouth must be as red as it is wet. Finn's cock is already sloppy--sloppier than Puck's ever been, himself, with a girl. He needs it fucking his mouth, like, yesterday, and stupid, too-nice-to-live Finn is trying to be all gentle and shit. Enough is enough. 

"Use me." 

He's raspy, half from the want still tugging at his throat and half from sheer, harder-than-he's-ever-been-in-his-life arousal. Finn frowns, and Puck really really needs Finn to figure it out soon, because the ache in his jeans is starting to hurt. 

"Puck..."

"Fucking use me, Finn. Please. I need it. I need--" Puck is babbling, he knows he's babbling, but fuck it, because the electric feeling is starting to buzz up his spine now, and he's knows there's only one thing that's going to make it go away. "I need you to use my throat to get off, and I need you to talk to me. Please. Finn?"

"But I, uh." Finn lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I did talk to you, man. That's pretty much all I got." He looks almost sheepish.

"Just-" Fuck it; Puck releases his death grip on Finn's hips to quickly undo his own jeans. He can't wait much longer. "Just tell me that, like, I'm worthless, and--and the only thing I'm good for is sucking your... Just, please, Finn. I'm literally on my knees fucking begging here, dude. Use me." 

Finn's still frowning, but his hands make it to the back of Puck's head, and a few seconds later, Puck feels those big hands pull him forward. He exhales, the relief whooshing out of him, and Finn must like the hot breath on the tip of his cock, because he jerks Puck forward all the way at that. Puck has just enough time to re-wet his lips before Finn's sliding into his mouth again, solid weight on his tongue. He's overwhelmed immediately with the feel and the smell and the _taste_ of Finn, but this time, when he searches for the choking feeling again, Finn's right there with him, bucking his hips at the same time he pushes on Puck's head and--

"Mmm!" The moan is pulled from Puck before he can help it, and his own hips jerk at the same time he feels Finn hit the back of his throat again. It's so, so good, that feeling of being choked for Finn's pleasure, and he moans again, the sound coming up from his gut. The noise, or the vibrations, or something must get to Finn, because he snaps his hips harder, and Puck's throat spasms around the head of Finn's cock in response. 

Puck's brain has been reduced to a haze of floating words. "More" and "fuck" and "Finn" are the loudest. But he registers the sound of Finn taking a deep breath, somewhere far above him.

"Look-look at you." Finn's gritting out. "On. On your knees for me. I'm fucking--fuck!--I'm fucking your throat and you can't do anything about it." 

_Oh, fuck._ Finn's doing it. He's really doing it. Puck can hear Finn panting, and he's sure if he could see anything other than the snap of Finn's hips, he'd see Finn flushed from his cheeks to the collar of his t-shirt, with the promise of lower. Finn grunts through his thrusts, which are speeding up even as Finn's losing his rhythm. Dude never could figure that out. Puck's not deep-throating, but he doesn't want to. He likes the satisfying feeling that choking without relief is giving him. All of him likes it. He realizes that at some point he started fucking the air between Finn's legs, the rub of cotton making it obvious how damp his boxers are already. "You like that, huh? You like just being a hole for me to fuck."

 _Oh._

Finn's grunting shamelessly now, and Puck knows this is going to be over pretty soon. But apparently Finn's starting to really enjoy the talking thing, because he's not done yet. "Yeah. Yeah, you do. You're fucking up against nothing down there." Finn's fingers dig into Puck's mohawk _hard_ , which makes Puck's cock throb desperately. "Good thing you're so good at this, cause--" Finn stutters for a beat, then continues on a groan. "'cause you're not good for anything else." 

Puck can feel his cheeks burn as Finn's words go straight between his legs. He's starting to feel frantic as everything starts spinning out of control. He knows he's a mess; his eyes water every time he gags around Finn and he's drooling from the sloppy in-and-out. He has a fleeting thought that he would probably look pretty hot with eyeliner smudging around his tears, and _where did that come from?_

Finn stills his hips just then, without warning, and Puck almost falls forward, trying to keep Finn in his mouth. But then Finn slides out completely. Puck gasps for air and blinks up at him. He's trying to glare, but it probably doesn't look too scary with tears and drool and pre-cum and God knows what else all over his face. Finn's obviously right on the edge, but he manages that half-smile at Puck. 

Apparently the smile was some kind of warning, because the next thing Puck knows, Finn's tracing the tip of his flushed, twitching cock all over Puck's lips. Puck's so stunned that he just lets him, still rocking his hips up in anticipation. And fuck if it isn't the hottest thing Finn's done all night. Finn leans down and brushes his lips just over the opening of Puck's ear, making Puck shudder in a way he no longer has the ability to control. "Bet you're just dying to come, huh?" 

If Finn had wrapped his mouth around Puck and sucked it wouldn't have felt as good as his voice in Puck's ear. Puck feels himself pulse almost painfully and then he's coming, _oh shit, he's coming,_ completely untouched. His breath is coming out of him in desperate gasps and it feels like he's never going to stop pulsing in his boxers, every spasm feeding that electric feeling that's finally--finally--resolving. 

He feels a deep moan surging through him, but it's cut off by Finn sliding back into his mouth in one hard stroke. Then Finn's chanting Puck's name on each exhale and Puck _feels_ Finn coming before he can taste him, which is really fucking cool, but then Finn does fill Puck's mouth and that's even better. Puck chokes again, coughing this time, and can't exactly keep all of it in his mouth, but he thinks that's probably okay with Finn. 

He keeps sucking, remembering to be gentle, because it's probably in the gay chapter of the Guy Code that you don't try to suck your best friend's cock off his body after he comes. He feels Finn slump back against the wall, and then Finn's trailing his fingers from Puck's hair to his face, stroking under his jaw until Puck leans back and lets Finn slip out of his mouth. There's some shuffling above him and then Finn's on his knees, face-to-face with Puck.

"Hi." He feels shy all of a sudden, which is weird because he was just freaking directing Finn on how to fuck his throat, but he guesses "weird" is probably pretty normal for a situation like this. Maybe that's in the gay chapter, too. 

"Hi. You've got something on your face. Can I?" It takes Puck a second to figure out what Finn's asking, but when he gets it, his eyes go wide. 

"Oh yeah. Yeah, man. G'head."

Finn open-mouth kisses along his jaw and up over his cheeks, making happy little "mm"ing noises each time he swallows. Kinky bastard. When he does, he grins at Puck with his whole mouth, looking like he just went to Disney World or something. 

"Did I do okay?" 

Puck laughs out loud, and it's a little louder than he means to, but Finn just looks so fucking proud of himself. And anyway, he did way better than "okay." 

"You tell me." Puck nods down to his boxers, and it's Finn's turn to laugh, his face bright with it. 

"C'mon." Finn hauls them both to their feet and starts to tug at Puck's jeans and boxers. "You could help me, y'know. Don't think you're drunk anymore." 

Puck laughs again, and it feels really really good. Not coming-in-your-boxers good, but pretty damn good on its own. 

"Maybe I like you waiting on me. You ever think of that?" 

Finn looks down at him, a little startled. "C'mere." Puck wraps a hand around the back of Finn's neck and pulls his head down, because after all that, they haven't even kissed. 

The kiss is soft, and strangely romantic for a night that included a sticky bar floor and a mess all over Puck's face. But he guesses that's probably pretty normal, too, at least for them. They haven't exactly had time to talk about it, but if Puck has anything to say about it--and Finn basically goes along with whatever Puck decides is a good idea, anyway--this thing won't be ending tonight. 

Finn pulls away first, and grabs Puck's hand, tugging him toward the bed.

"Pants off, buddy. Lessgo." Puck does as he says, but quirks an eyebrow up at Finn anyway. Finn sighs dramatically, and points to the bed. "As soon as you're ready, it's your turn. But, uh, I'm gonna kinda do it the regular way, if that's okay." 

Puck chuckles and feels that electric feeling starting its tingle in his fingertips again. Yeah, that's definitely okay.


End file.
